


Cookies

by OceanTheSoulRebel



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 14:56:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanTheSoulRebel/pseuds/OceanTheSoulRebel
Summary: The Chargers hide a foodie fugitive in their drunken midst in the middle of the night.





	Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for DA Drunk Writing Circle on 3/16/18. Prompt: Krem/Dagna, "the crackle of a fire in the middle of the night."

Cabot the barkeeper was a good man and had rarely actually kicked his drunken patrons out when he officially closed the bar, but after one particularly festive customer kicked over a table and soiled the fresh layer of paint he’d painstakingly applied to its surface, he had implemented a new rule: when the bar closed, so did the doors.

In other words, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.

Which is how Krem found himself and a cadre of Chargers in the Great Hall in the middle of the night, drinking from a keg they’d convinced Cabot to sell them and stoking one of the many fires that dotted the walls of the massive room. Grim prodded the flames with an iron poker between swigs of whatever swill he had hidden in his flask, Dalish and Stitches were in some heated conversation about… something, and Krem enjoyed the heat of the ale that swirled in his belly.

That was, until he heard a resounding crash from the nearby kitchen, echoing through the open door nearby.

He found his feet quickly, rushing to whatever mess awaited him, slipping through the door and jogging down the hallway.

The Inquisition’s arcanist—what was her name, Denna? Dany?—pushed open the kitchen doors, covered head to toe in flour and other food detritus. “Blast it, blast it, blast it!” She tried in vain to dust the powder from her clothes, missing entirely the amount that lay in her hair.

He slowed as he approached her, and to his credit, he didn’t laugh, though surely his mirth showed somehow. She scowled at him and he threw up his hands.

“I heard a crash,” he said with a slight smile. “Are you all right, Miss…?”

“Dagna, just Dagna, and yeah, I guess, but now I'm positive I look like a wisp, and that’s not as exciting as it sounds.” Her hands worked at brushing the offending foodstuff off her clothes again and she huffed. “This didn’t quite go according to plan,” she admitted.

“Sounds like you could use a drink, and maybe a hiding place from the cooks.” Krem couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him at her scowl.

“I—” Footsteps echoed in the hall beyond them, startling them into action. “Flames! Hide me!” Dagna hissed.

Krem took her hand and together they ran back to the Great Hall, slamming the door behind them and leaning against it. He could hear the muffled shout of whichever outraged cook discovered Dagna’s mess; he laughed at the umbrage, clutching his hand to his belly. “Oh, I don’t envy you,” he said with a grin. Krem led her to the Chargers, who had kept drinking in his short absence. “We’ve got a new friend, make room!”

Dagna settled to his side at the large banquet table, hiding between Krem and Grim, the two men a shield of meat between herself and whoever next walked through the door.

He found his mug again, tossing back the contents. Turning, he saw her examining his cuirass, a calculating glint in her eye. “I don’t think we’ve officially met yet. I’m Krem,” he said, sticking out his hand and interrupting her inspection. “Lieutenant of this sorry bunch, best mercenary group this side of the Waking Sea.”

Dagna shook his hand eagerly, casting a curious, cautious glance over his shoulder at the door to the kitchen hallway. “Nice to meet you. And thanks for the quick rescue.” She grinned. “I’m sure we’re gonna hear about it in the morning, but I’m glad they didn’t find me!”

“What were you doing in there at this hour of night?”

She blinked. “What time is it?”

“The ass-end of morning, that’s all I know,” Dalish piped up, filling a spare mug and proffering it to their new arrival.

Dagna accepted the drink and shook her head. “I lost track of time, I guess. I was just trying to make some cookies, ones that she’d actually like, hopefully,” she mumbled around the lip of the mug. She shrugged and turned to the fire, which popped under Grim’s ministrations.

“Who doesn’t like cookies?” Krem asked incredulously.

“That’s what I said!” She laughed loudly and clapped her hand over her mouth, though it did little in muffling her mirth. “Sera,” she answered with a mischievous smile. “She swears she hates cookies, but she hasn’t tried mine.”

Krem nodded. “That’s serious business, hating cookies. Hopefully you can change her mind, but maybe at a more reasonable hour?”

“That’s the plan,” she replied with a smile.

They sat together comparing favored pastries well into the morning, their small group draining the ale keg until it lay dry. The fire crackled and shifted, punctuating the easy camaraderie with its own contributions to the conversations. 

Dawn eventually broke through the massive wall of stained glass of the hall, casting part of the room in the muted yellows and greens of the design. Dagna stood and groaned. “I can’t feel my butt!” 

Everyone still awake laughed, the noise stirring their slumbering companions from their sleep. “We should clear out,” Krem suggested. “The cooks are going to start the breakfast service soon and we’re harboring a food-covered fugitive in our midst.” 

Dagna smiled wearily at his words. “Sounds like a good idea,” she said with a yawn. “I should get rid of the evidence, anyway. Thanks again, Krem. Maybe I’ll get those cookies made and give you some, for services rendered.”

Krem stretched, his own ass aching after hours of sitting on the hard benches. “I’m always up for desserts.” 

“Oh good, then it sounds like I’ve found a new taste tester. I’ve gotta find the perfect recipe and convince Sera that cookies are delicious!”

“Sounds great. Oh, just, maybe not in the middle of the night.”

Dagna laughed and wandered off in the direction of... somewhere. Drunk Krem didn’t know the layout of the keep, but his feet knew how to find his bedroll. He made his way to his bed, the drink swirling in his belly and already promising an aching head. 

Maybe Chief would be nice and let him sleep in. 


End file.
